


The Path of Sorrow

by turtle_paced



Series: Stars Crossing [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, mentioned Brandon Stark/Catelyn Tully, mentioned Rhaegar Targaryen/Lyanna Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 09:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1773355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turtle_paced/pseuds/turtle_paced
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fight at the Tower of Joy, Ned has some relationships to build, and a relationship to end. Sequel to “Shore to Shore.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Path of Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: considerably more grim than the last one. Canonical character deaths, depression, miscarriage, suicide. It's an unending parade of misery.
> 
> This story stands fairly well on its own. All you need to know from "Shore to Shore" is that Ned and Ashara were an item at Harrenhal and were planning to be married before everything went to shit.

The babe stirred in Ned’s arms, and he realised something important. “Lyanna didn’t tell me his name,” he said. _She didn’t have the chance. She was delirious. Desperate._ His sister’s body was still lying on the bed behind him. Her skin was cool now, but when Ned had taken her hand it had been fever-hot. Howland Reed had carefully removed her from his grip, and Ned had turned away at last, towards Lyanna’s son.

Her son was, at least, alive. And he had her eyes. Ned had picked him up still in a daze. 

“I don’t know what she named him either, m’lord,” the wet nurse said. “She and the prince were certain she would have a girl. She was still making up her mind when she fell ill.”

“He has to have a name,” Ned said. If his sister had chosen Targaryen name for her son, he couldn’t use it. _Brandon_. _Rickard._ Those, maybe. Either would be a good name for the boy.

“M’lord, I swear, if Princess Lyanna decided on a name, I do not know of it.” 

“Ned,” Howland said, voice as gentle as his hands had been taking Lyanna from him, “I think you had best choose a name for him yourself.”

“Yes,” Ned said, feeling a long way off. After everything that had happened, this was how it ended? “Yes, I had better, hadn’t I?”

He handed his nameless nephew to the wet nurse and left the room. It was too hot in there. It smelled like roses and death. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t _think_. Outside it might smell like death too, from the bodies of his friends and of the Kingsguard, but there was at least a breeze. It brought dust, flies, and minimal relief from the heat.

Ned sat on a rock in the shade, cast not by a tree but by the angle of the late afternoon sun on a large boulder, took off his armour, and started to clean the blood from Ice.

The exertion of the fight, and then the sprint up the stairs to Lyanna’s side, was catching up to him. He had his breath back, but he had taken several blows to the ribs and the legs. His armour had saved him from the cuts, but not the bruises. Sweat was stinging in a long, shallow gash on his hand. He hadn’t even noticed. His muscles ached. He hurt.

_Promise me, Ned._

He had promised.

The boy would have to be raised a bastard. He wondered if Lya had fully realised that. Ned had a wife now. He would take the boy, of course he would take the boy, he could never do anything else. What would Lady Catelyn think of his honour? A bastard was one thing, raising that supposed bastard in Winterfell another. 

It was too late now. Lya was dead, along with her Kingsguard protectors. Her son’s father had long preceded them to the grave. Ned was almost the boy’s only living kin. He ran through them, all that remained.

There was Benjen, in Winterfell. On the boy’s father’s side, there was his grandmother and his uncle, under siege at Dragonstone. That was it. That was all. Three uncles and a grandmother, a cousin if Lady Catelyn had delivered her babe safely. Of those five, Ned was the only one who knew the boy even existed. He was surely the only one who was in a position to help.

It occurred to him then that he was no better off – that he had even fewer kinsmen than the infant in the tower. Ned had a brother and a nephew, maybe a child. Two, three at most. 

His family never had been that large.

He looked over at the bodies of men and horses strewn across the bloodied ground in front of the tower. Eight men. He’d lost more than a few friends, too, not all of them to enemy swords. _Robert_.

Ice cleaned, he set it aside, and faced the task of the bodies. He thought he could do that, whereas if he went back inside to where Lyanna lay, he thought he might break down again. Someone, he saw, as he checked the corpses, had already closed their eyes.

Howland. It had to have been Howland – the wet nurse had stayed inside, Ned hadn’t done it, and Howland was the only other living person in this desolate place.

There was Ser Arthur, on the ground. His helm had been knocked off at some point in the fight. Before Ned crossed swords with him, he thought, though much of the scuffle was blurry in his mind. There was blood standing out vividly in Ser Arthur’s pale hair, just starting to dry brown.

Howland had tripped Ser Arthur up with one of his nets, he remembered that. Ned had struck the killing blow himself, he remembered that too. Then he had looked around to see if he could aid one of his friends, and found that he and Howland were the last two standing. The last two alive.

Then Lya had screamed his name again, pain in her voice, and he had run to her, thinking of nothing and nobody else.

And there was Dawn, inches away from Ser Arthur’s hand. The blood on that had dried in the hot Dornish sun. He thought it might have been Martyn’s, maybe Ethan’s. Some of it might have been Ned’s own. It could be all three. He picked the sword up and returned to his rock to clean it as well.

It was a beautiful blade. Ned had noticed that even when Ser Arthur had been swinging it at him with intent to kill. As pale as milk, it was, the very opposite of the dark Valyrian steel Ned had tried against it. There wasn’t a nick in it. Only blood to be wiped off.

He would take it back to Starfall. It was an heirloom of House Dayne; he should not bury it with its most recent owner. It should be returned.

Howland came out of the tower as the sun went down. “Ned,” he said, “you need to decide what we’re going to do.”

“Bury them respectfully,” Ned said. “Go home." 

“In a bit more detail than that,” Howland said. “Go inside and think. Your nephew still needs a name. Wylla has gone to get water, so we can drink and wash, at least a little. I will take care of the bodies tomorrow.”

“Not Lya’s,” he tried to say, but he choked on the words and he had to try again. “Not Lya’s. She asked me to take her bones back to Winterfell.”

“She should rest there,” Howland agreed, looking around at the bodies himself, and at the bleak, stony landscape. “It would be better than here.” 

“There are silent sisters at Starfall. Do we still have horses?” His own had been killed under him, early in the fight. Not the first he’d lost that way, over the course of the war. The gods alone knew how Ned regained his feet, but he suspected that one of his companions had died for the time it took Ned to stand.

“Enough. Including Willam’s. Nothing can kill that horse, I swear.”

Normally Howland’s unease with Willam Dustin’s huge, aggressive, red stallion would lighten his heart, but not today. Today he looked at the horse and could only think of how Lyanna would have made a fuss over the cantankerous beast, while Lord Willam would have tried to shoo her away, far more protective of it than he needed to be. Today Lyanna and almost every man he’d brought to retrieve her was dead.

“I’ll take it back to Willam’s wife,” he said. That was what he did now, he thought. He brought bad news and tokens of a loved one’s death. His words were as dark as any raven’s wings.

He went inside, no further than the ground floor of the round tower, and did as Howland suggested. The wet nurse – Wylla? – brought water, hard cheese, and bread. Ned ate, and thought, and at some point he fell asleep in his chair.

 

\---

 

The next morning, Ned helped Howland with the bodies. He couldn’t leave his friend to do it all himself. The men who had died here had been Howland’s friends too. “Cairns, I thought,” Howland said, strain in his voice. Some things were worse in the cold dawn light. “The ground is too hard for anything else. I can move the stone easily enough.”

“Take it from the tower,” Ned said. “I don’t want it to stand.”

While Howland prepared to tear apart the tower, Ned took the white cloaks from the dead Kingsguard, intending to return them to the Lord Commander as proof of their deaths. Ser Gerold’s was torn nearly in two. “We’ll have to work quickly,” Ned said when he was done preparing the bodies. “It will get hot soon.”

It took them two days, and they all slept in tents overnight. Ned soon wished that they had the materials for pyres, or that the earth was soft enough to dig in. Even with Howland and his tricks, it was exhausting, heartbreaking work. Wylla minded the boy, and brought them water regularly. By the end, he and Howland were both sunburnt. Sore muscles, sunburn, broken fingernails, healing cuts. They were both a mass of small hurts.

Lya’s body, he wrapped in blankets himself. It was easier than he thought it would be. Lya wasn’t there anymore. What was left wasn’t his sister.

He still had no name for her son.

It could not be a Targaryen name; that was a death sentence. It could not be Brandon or Rickard, much as he might like to give either name to Lya’s son; those were names of House Stark, and of necessity the boy would be raised a Snow.

There was little talk on the journey back to Starfall. Seven had travelled this way, three days before, to meet with the six in the tower. Four returned, leaving none behind.

Ned rode Lord Willam’s stallion. It was far too much horse for either Howland or Wylla to handle. Seven of the horses had lived through the battle. He would get them back to Starfall too, and then onwards. Ned had saved what he could from that awful tower.

Then he and Howland had pulled it down and used its stone to bury eight good men. If it was possible to have revenge on a building, Ned had it. For all the good it did any of them.

He reined up as Starfall came into view, perched tall and slender on its cliff where the Torentine met the harbour. The late afternoon sunset struck the white stone of the keep and turned it all to gold. The Palestone Sword was even more striking in this light. South of Starfall there was only the harbour, and south of the harbour there was only the sea.

They were coming back from the edge of the world.

Behind him, Howland and Wylla halted too.

“We are agreed?” Ned asked, just to confirm what they all knew must be. “None of us will say a word about the babe’s true parents. As far as any of us are concerned, I am the boy’s father.” 

“Agreed, m’lord,” Wylla said at once. “None shall hear that the boy is not a Sand from me, I swear by all the Seven. The Stranger strike me down if I should lie.”

“A Snow,” Ned corrected her. “Northern bastards are named Snow.”

Howland said, “I swore to you Greywater’s heart and hearth and harvest, our swords and spears and arrows. By earth and water, I swore, by bronze and iron, ice and fire. I will keep my silence.”

Yet he looked worried as he said it.

“Is aught amiss?” Ned asked, as they started towards the keep again.

“Just one of those things you put little stock in,” Howland replied. “A bad feeling, nothing more. But I have sworn by all that is good and all that is important in this world. I won’t forget. You don’t have to worry about me.”

They rode in silence for a little while longer. “Have you thought of a name for him?” Howland asked again at length.

“No,” Ned replied. “It’s a more difficult task than I thought it would be. I can’t give him a Targaryen name, and I can’t give him a Stark name…nothing else seems to fit.”

“If you can’t give him a family name, perhaps consider naming him for a friend,” Howland suggested.

“I won’t name him for Robert.” The reaction was immediate, visceral. He would not name any child of his for Robert. No more could he name Lya’s boy after Robert – Robert had sat above the murdered bodies of the boy’s half-siblings and pronounced them dragonspawn. _Could there be a greater insult to Lya? To the babe?_

“I didn’t mean Robert,” Howland said. “You’ve often spoken to me of Lord Arryn…” 

“Jon?” _Why didn’t I think of that earlier?_ “It is a name with honour,” he said. There had been Jon Starks before, he knew. There were many Jons in Westeros. It was as common a name as could be, safely anonymous as well as pleasing to him. “Jon he will be, then.” _Jon Snow_.

The sun set and night fell as they reached Starfall, turning the walls from gold to red and then finally back to white, glowing in the moonlight. Ned had no love for the Dornish climate and hadn’t wished for an instant to live here even before what had happened in the tower, but it _was_ a beautiful castle. They were met outside by Lord Dayne, whose men had no doubt seen their approach from the Palestone Sword.

“So few?” Lord Dayne said, before even the formalities. His eyes roved Ned’s small party – looking for his brother, no doubt – and stopped when he saw the babe. “Come inside,” he said. “It seems we have much to discuss.”

 

\---

 

“I see,” Lord Dayne said heavily when Ned concluded his tale. “That sounds like Arthur. I thank you, House Dayne thanks you, for burying him, and for returning his sword.” He leaned back in his chair and briefly covered his eyes with his hand.

Alyn Dayne was ten years older than Ned, lean and worn. Like his father and brother, he had fought as a royalist during the Rebellion, but unlike them he had been taken hostage rather than killed. The ransom and exchange had been the pretext Ashara had used to bring Ned here, so close to where Rhaegar had brought Lyanna.

Not that he had seen Ashara. She had been abed, ill, when he arrived, and the maester had forbidden him from seeing her. Her good-sister, Alyn’s wife Merinda, had given him the last directions he needed in thanks for her lord husband’s safe return.

These people could have been his own good-family. He had wanted them as his good-family.

“And the babe?” Lord Alyn asked.

“Is mine,” Ned said, face straight. Ned had told Lord Dayne nothing on the journey to Starfall save that Ashara had asked him to be ransomed, but the ladies of House Dayne (except for five-year-old Allyria) had known the full extent of the ruse. No doubt his wife had told him the rest of it.

“As you will,” he said. “Arthur was a friend to Prince Rhaegar, as well as one of the Kingsguard. Ashara was a friend to Rhaegar’s wife, whom she tells me carried no grudge against your sister and would never have wished harm on her. Our father died fighting for Rhaegar at the Trident. If you say the babe is yours, none of House Dayne will say otherwise.”

“Thank you,” Ned said awkwardly. He just wanted an end to all this. He just wanted to keep what remained of his family alive.

“Our families have both lost much from this war,” Lord Alyn said, echoing Ned’s thoughts. “But if I may, I would ask another favour from you, Lord Eddard.”

“If it is within my power to grant,” Ned said.

“Will you talk with my sister before you leave? She wastes away from grief, and she has yet to learn about Arthur. I know your history with her, I know you are wed to Catelyn Tully, but if you have ever loved Ashara, please, say a proper goodbye to her. Then she might be able to start to put this, at least, behind her.”

“I would have asked to speak to her myself,” Ned assured him. _She wastes away from grief._ He had written the one letter, almost a year ago, to break off any hope of betrothal between them. It had been as much to her father as to her, devoid of all the many things he would have liked to say and apologise for. “How we left things…wasn’t right.”

Alyn Dayne smiled sadly. “On the contrary, my lord. House Dayne has never taken offense from your actions in breaking off negotiations and we thank you for your courtesy. My late father understood the situation, and so do I. For my return to my family alone, my house owes you a great deal, and instead I am imposing on you further.”

“I do not consider it an imposition,” Ned said. “I have nothing but respect and affection for Lady Ashara and wish to help her however I can.”

He just couldn’t wed her. He already had a wife, and she was giving him a child.

“In the morning, then,” Lord Alyn said.

_She wastes away from grief._ Ned feared what he would find the war had done to Ashara on the morrow.

 

\---

To his own surprise, he had rather liked Catelyn Tully, and he had as soon as he saw her. That had somehow made him feel even worse.

After the Battle of the Bells (as the singers had immediately named it), they had returned to Riverrun to regroup. The victory had cost them – Jon was once again without an heir, Robert needed to rest and reorganise his men after their bloody trip through the Reach – and Hoster Tully himself said that he wanted to see his daughters wed before they made any further advances.

Lady Catelyn, and not Hoster Tully’s young heir, had welcomed them back. Lord Hoster had said he had left her in charge of Riverrun in his absence. Obviously taken aback at her father’s dramatic-looking head injury (in truth a simple cut along his scalp), she had nevertheless managed the formalities with a clear, steady voice. Nor had she been the slightest bit flustered at the sheer number of guests she had to prepare for.

She was indeed tall and fair, as Brandon had said, and red-haired and blue-eyed, very much like her father, but Ned liked her quiet composure and polished courtesy. He thought he might be able to like that very much, and immediately felt guilty for thinking it. It was Lady Catelyn he was betrothed to, yet he could not quite convince his heart of that. To think of Catelyn in such a way felt unfaithful to Ashara and disrespectful of Brandon.

It was, of course, the other way around. To think of Ashara’s smile was unfaithful to Catelyn. He had to remember that, even if he did wish that Lady Catelyn were quicker to laugh.

No, that wasn’t fair either. Lady Catelyn had been betrothed to Brandon for years. She would soon have to watch her father go to war. This was not a time for laughter.

They were wed the day after he arrived at Riverrun. Jon Arryn said his own vows to Catelyn’s sister Lysa afterwards. Hoster Tully had wrung all that he could from the favour he had done them in joining them at the Stoney Sept, before even Ned’s wedding to Lady Catelyn had taken place.

That was that – Ashara was out of his reach now, and if he lived through this war, he would have to do the best he could with the woman he had married.

He told himself that all through the wedding feast, but he had not reckoned on the bedding, and specifically for what must happen after the bedding.

Ned had liked what he had seen of Catelyn Tully, and that opinion had definitely not changed when he saw her without her clothing. Most of the words they had exchanged, however, had been their wedding vows. He didn’t know her. He didn’t love her. He didn’t even want to be her husband.

Once they were in bed together, matters only became worse. Catelyn was clearly a maid, as Ashara had not been, and Ned was scarcely more experienced in such matters than his new wife. It was quick and awkward and Catelyn hardly moved the whole time.

She moved quickly enough when it was over, though, all but diving out of the bed and towards the robe that had been left for her, along with their clothes for the next morning. Ned looked away as she scrambled to dress, feeling oddly ashamed, and pulled the blankets over himself.

“You can look,” she said after a few seconds.

Ned did. In the dim light, he could see that her cheeks were pink, her auburn hair was loose, and she was holding her robe closed all the way up to her throat. “I – I hope I did not hurt you, my lady,” he ventured.

“It hurt no more than I expected it to,” she said, colouring even more deeply. “I am not – not used to –“ she took a deep breath and took the time to regain a little composure, though she still clutched her robe tightly closed, “- being in such a state of undress with a man.”

“Nor me with a woman,” Ned said quietly, still under the blankets. “I wish I could put you more at ease.”

“As do I,” she replied. “I suppose we’ll get used to each other.”

“If we have the time.”

“Yes. If we have the time.”

They remained in silence for a little while. The colour faded from Catelyn’s cheeks and Ned wondered if she was thinking of Brandon’s fate, as he was. _I know you must be disappointed, my lady._ He knew he didn’t compare to Brandon.

“We have two weeks, at the least,” Catelyn said at last. “I am willing to try –“ she gestured to the bed – “if you are, my lord. I would give you a son, if I can.”

“I would like that,” he said, not entirely sure whether he meant bedding her again or the possibility of a son. Both seemed daunting eventualities. “Perhaps tomorrow night?”

“Did you wish to sleep, then?” she asked.

“No,” Ned said. He was still too nervous to fall asleep. He had never slept next to a woman before, not even Ashara. “I do not think I will be able to sleep tonight. If my lady does not object, I hoped we could get to know each other a little better.”

She looked at him oddly, accentuated by the shadows the candlelight threw. Lady Catelyn was a beautiful woman. Again, Ned felt like a heel for appreciating how beautiful.

“I never had the chance to meet you,” he said. “Not like Brandon did. This is the first chance we’ve had to speak privately.”

“I would like to talk with you, too,” she said at last. “Though I would prefer if we could avoid the topic of your brother, I think. I fear it would only cause both of us to grieve. Let us speak of more pleasant things, if we can.”

“As you will,” he said, and he rose from the bed to dress himself. Catelyn was the one to turn away then. Feeling braver now, he said, “You have seen all there is to see, my lady. You need not look away to spare my modesty.”

She turned back to him, the pink back in her cheeks. “Then tomorrow night, you must not look away to spare mine,” she said, in her clear, steady voice. She had stopped holding her robe so tightly closed, though it was still perfectly modest. “I am your wife, my lord.”

That she was. And Ned did like her. She should have had his brother for a husband, as she had been promised. His brother should have had her for a wife, and they should have been happy together, the Lord and Lady of Winterfell. Ned just wanted Ashara and a simple life in a modest keep. 

And yet Lady Catelyn was kind, and beautiful, and gracious even under pressure. Ned admired all of that. He could not help but think that they might be able to build something together, given the time and opportunity.

 

\---

 

In the morning, Ned sought out Ashara, and found her in Wylla’s room, the babe Jon Snow in her arms. “Will you leave us for a while?” he asked the wet nurse, and the woman excused herself. She left the boy. Ashara didn’t seem inclined to let him go.

Ashara was much changed. She was still beautiful – Ned would always find her beautiful – but fragile-looking, now, glass that would shatter at the slightest impact. At Harrenhal she had been full of laughter, always smiling, and with the energy to dance all night. “Alyn tells me you mean to claim the boy as your own,” she said, looking at Jon rather than him. Her dark hair fell over her face, hiding her expression from him.

“I do,” he said.

“You’ll have to call him a bastard.”

“I see no other way of hiding him.”

“Will you foster him out?”

_Promise me,_ he heard. And he had promised. No matter what it might cost him, he could not break a promise to Lya.

“No,” he said. “Lyanna wanted me to raise him myself.”

“Foolish,” she said, no bitterness, no sorrow, no anything in her voice. “Fostering him out would be safer. Robert Baratheon and Tywin Lannister made sure that you will need to be very careful indeed.” She sat there, looking at Jon. “Elia wouldn’t have hurt a fly, Ned. She really wouldn’t. They didn’t have to kill her, or her babes.”

“I know. I told Robert that.” He wished he could forget it – but someone had to remember the two children killed for Robert’s throne, and their mother’s fate as well, a murderous afterthought. And if he was to protect Jon Snow, he could never afford to forget. “I won’t let them hurt Jon.” 

“So many people have died for this little one,” Ashara mused, sounding completely detached. “So many. I wonder if Rhaegar dreamed of _that_. I wonder if he cared.” She looked up at him, then, and her eyes were as dull as her voice. “You killed Arthur yourself? Alyn said you did.”

“I did. He would not stand down, Ashara, I’m sorry. I never wanted to bring you more grief.”

“So many dead,” she repeated. “And I was the one who brought you here. Will the gods count that as kinslaying, I wonder? When I wrote that letter, I wanted an end to this whole sorry war. Somewhere in the back of my mind I must have known it would mean pitting you against Arthur. He made those vows and loved them better than he loved anything. Or anyone.”

“The knights of the Kingsguard do not flee,” Ned said, repeating the words Ser Gerold had said at the tower. His last words, as they turned out. The old knight had known he faced his death.

“How many of your friends did he kill?”

Ned did not even consider lying to her. “Five. All but Howland and myself.”

She didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. “And your sister died as well.”

“Childbed fever.” A last slap in the face from the gods. _Waste upon waste._ “It could have happened to any woman.” Ned saw where she was going with this.

“So it is eight deaths on my conscience, rather than nine. Would that I had not sent you that letter.” 

“None of it is your fault, and you brought your brother Alyn back home with your letter,” Ned said. “You did not fail. I am grateful. I can take my sister’s bones home. It is more than I could do for my brother or my father.”

“ _You_ brought my brother Alyn back home,” Ashara corrected him. “And my other brother is lost to me forever, his bones as well. I couldn’t even help you save your sister. It seems I can’t do anything right.” She looked down at Jon again. “I would have asked you if I could keep this one and claim him as yours _and_ mine, but too many of my friends and neighbours know our bastard was stillborn. Another mistake.” 

She said it so flatly, at first Ned thought he misheard. “ _Our_ bastard?” Ashara had been with child?

Her brow wrinkled very slightly. “Oh. Nobody told you. It doesn’t matter. She was stillborn.”

Ned sat down hard, knees abruptly feeling rather watery. At least he had made it to a chair. “ _When?_ ”

“A few months ago. I thought we’d ask for a legitimisation when we wed. I still wanted the babe even after your letter came. Bastards are treated much better in Dorne than they are in the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. I was going to call her Lyarra, after your mother. Lyarra Sand sounded like a good name.”

“It does,” Ned agreed, voice hoarse. He had thought of having children with Ashara, that year between Harrenhal and the murders of his father and brother. He had also given up on it. Now she told him that they might have had at least one child anyway, even if he could never have known her as he might like?

What had he done to deserve this?

“But she was dead when she came out of me,” Ashara continued. “The maester let me hold her for a little before they burned her. She looked a lot like this babe, only she was dead. That was the first failure. I couldn’t even bear a living child for the man I love.”

“ _Ashara_ …”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, and the words scared Ned more than he thought anything could scare him anymore. “Nothing I do matters.” She said it as though it was fact as immutable as the sun rising in the east.

“And I don’t care anymore,” she continued. “I know I should, but I don’t.”

Ned didn’t know what to say to that. “You still have family who love you,” he said at last. “Your brother and his wife, your sister.”

“On balance, I think they might be better off without me,” she replied. “Much like you are.”

“There could still be a husband and children for you,” he persisted. It would hurt, to know she’d moved on, but a better kind of hurt, and no more than she must have felt to know that he had wed another. “You just told me bastards are treated well in Dorne; surely there would be men who wouldn’t take issue with -” He couldn’t say it. _The stillbirth_. “You said there was no dishonour in what we did at Harrenhal, especially for a Dornishwoman.”

She took the opportunity to move to the topic of spouses, saying, “Tell me, Ned, what’s Catelyn Tully like? Is she as beautiful as I’ve heard?”

“Yes,” he admitted.

“Graceful? Clever? Kind?”

“All those things.”

“There, you see. She’ll make you an excellent wife.”

“In all likelihood,” he said. “But she isn’t _you_ , Ashara. I wanted to marry you. I still do. I would have been happy for you to raise our child and name her for my lady mother, even if we couldn’t wed.”

Ashara smiled at him, an empty mockery of an expression he’d thought of almost every day since they parted at Harrenhal. “We can’t have you breaking your vows now, Ned. Besides, you deserve someone who loves you, and I don’t think I can love anything anymore.” She passed Jon to him, very carefully. “Don’t let Robert or Tywin hurt him,” she said. “If you can save his life, this wasn’t all for nothing. Perhaps he’ll even be worth all the blood.”

“What are you going to do now?” he asked, as she stood to leave.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ll have to think about it.” 

“I wish you well,” he said. “I wanted it to be different.”

“I did too, Ned. I did too.”

She left him there with Jon to grieve for a child he hadn’t even known he might have had.

_Lyarra_.

Ned hadn’t known his mother very well, as she had died shortly after Benjen was born. His father hadn’t liked to talk about her and never remarried. If Ned tried, he could remember soft hands and a soft voice, and that she liked to wear rose scent. Brandon, who remembered her better, said that she was small, like Lyanna, with a temper much like hers as well. He’d never get to know that much of the second Lyarra. The second Lyarra never even had the chance to live at all.

There would be no third Lyarra, he vowed. Not from him. His trueborn daughters, if he should have them, would have other names.

Young Jon’s eyes blinked open, and he focused as best he could on Ned. “You could have stayed here,” Ned told the babe. “You could have been Jon Sand. Ashara would have been a good mother to you, I know.”

 

\---

 

“I did the best I could,” Ned said to Lord Dayne as he, Howland, and Wylla prepared to leave. Lyanna’s bones were ready to go back to Winterfell, by way of King’s Landing, as was her son. 

Angry as he was with Robert, and Robert with him, he had to go tell the new king what became of his betrothed. _Robert loved her. Even if she did not love him._ He had obligations.

_You wouldn’t have liked being queen, Lya._

“That is all I asked you to do,” Lord Dayne said.

“I will pray for her recovery,” Ned said. He would pray long for her recovery. He had seen grief before, felt its bite before and felt it fresh now, but what Ashara seemed to be suffering was worse. She had given up. “I will keep her in my thoughts, and I am sorry for the losses you have suffered.”

“The Daynes of Starfall will always think kindly of you, Lord Stark.”

“Farewell, then.”

“Gods go with you. Travel safe.”

Ned wheeled hiss horse around, riding away from Starfall for what he expected to be the last time, and away from Ashara. Forever.

It was one of the hardest things he had ever done, harder even than writing the letter to break off negotiations for her hand. Harder than the trip across the Bite, harder than standing up to Tywin Lannister. Almost as hard as what he promised Lya (an easy promise to make, and it would be a difficult one to keep).

Ashara needed him, and he had to ride away. He could not be her husband; he could not be there for her, to help her in her despair. He was wed to another; he had obligations a thousand leagues away. He had to leave, and it had to be clean as possible.

She had not come to see him off. That was a mercy. He didn’t know if he could ride away when Ashara was right there. Nor would Ashara have to watch him turn his back on her and start the long ride back towards his lady wife.

Howland Reed rode close beside him, though he waited for Ned to speak. Robert wouldn’t have done that. Robert would have clapped him sympathetically on the shoulder and started talking about melees and horses any anything but women. Robert would also have had Lyanna’s babe murdered, along with Princess Elia’s two, the boy’s brother and sister.

“I did the right thing, I know,” he said at last. “I would only hurt her more if I stayed. She needs a new start, and she cannot have it with me.”

“No more than you could have with her,” Howland said. “Under the circumstances…yes. It was best.”

“It was best,” Ned repeated bitterly. “Best if none of this had ever happened at all.”

“I know.” He looked at Ned. “It will be bearable in time. All of it.”

Maybe it would. Howland was often right about these things. Ned’s grief over his father’s and Brandon’s deaths was still strong, but not as sharp as it had been. To think of them now brought an ache, not a pain. Lyanna, though, had died in his arms, begging for him to help her. He had had nightmares at Starfall.

_Promise me._

Ned had promised, and in so doing had most likely ruined any chance of happiness he had with Catelyn Tully. It made him regret leaving Ashara all the more – Ashara who knew his secret, who wouldn’t find a publicly-acknowledged bastard to be a threat or an insult.

He wanted her more than Catelyn Tully, he loved her more than Catelyn Tully – all manner of things would have been easier for him if he had been able to wed Ashara. They would both be happier. Even Lady Catelyn might be happier.

But personal happiness meant little and less in this world. Ned had learned that the hard way. It was a selfish wish.

“I hope so, my friend,” he said at last. “I hope so.”

 

\---

 

They stopped for the night when the walls of King’s Landing came into view. It was getting late in the afternoon. There was little time to make the rest of the distance to the city. By the time they arrived at the Red Keep it would be well after dark.

For all Ned knew, Robert would still be awake. Working, possibly; drinking, more likely. Ned didn’t want to have the conversation when he was tired and Robert was drunk. The truths were most rightly heard sober, and the lies best told with a clear head.

“Stay here tomorrow,” he instructed Howland and Wylla. King’s Landing had been thoroughly sacked by Tywin Lannister’s forces; he doubted the city was safe or in good repair. The inn they had stopped at was safe enough, and the further Jon Snow was from Robert the happier Ned would be. “I should not be more than a day or two.”

Ned wondered, too, if Robert would be able to stand the sight of him. They had never had a fight as bad as this before, not even once. And if anything, Ned could no more accept the murders of Rhaegar’s children by Elia of Dorne now than he could before. Nor would he be able to explain his opposition to its fullest extent. _The murder of children alone should be enough_ , Ned thought, but that was obviously not the case.

Much as he might wish to, he could not tell Robert. He had never kept as great a secret from Robert before either. (He had never kept a secret like this before, ever.) Young Jon might have been the son of the woman Robert loved most in this world, but so too was Jon the son of the man Robert hated most. Even if Robert’s love for Lyanna won out over his hatred for Rhaegar – and since Ned had first heard the word _dragonspawn_ he was not sure that it would – there were men such as Tywin Lannister who would see Ned’s nephew killed to curry favour with the king. No, Ned couldn’t tell Robert.

And that meant he couldn’t tell Jon Arryn. That hurt just as badly. He could not tell his foster father the truth about the boy Ned had named for him. Ned would have liked Jon’s advice. But he was on his own.

_Promise me_ , Lyanna’s voice insisted.

He dreamt of the tower again, woke before dawn, took what he needed, and set out. He arrived at the Red Keep mid-morning.

Given the circumstances of their parting, Ned thought it a bad idea to approach Robert cold. He knew Robert. The news of Lyanna’s death would stop his anger in its tracks, but until then there was a real risk of an ugly public confrontation. Ned didn’t want this to be an ugly public confrontation.

But if he asked for a private audience…

Though the great hall was already busy, it was not long before the direwolf on Ned’s doublet was noticed and he stood before the Iron Throne once again. It was Jon Arryn sitting it this morning, a most welcome change from seeing Jaime Lannister and his bloodied sword, or Robert above a pair of slain children. Jon Arryn smiled when he saw Ned. “Lord Stark,” he greeted Ned formally. “It is good to see you returned safely.”

“Lord Arryn,” Ned replied. Now that it was time to ask, his throat was dry. “I would ask a private audience as soon as possible.”

“Granted,” Jon Arryn said instantly. “I shall meet with you once my business has concluded here.” He called for men to show Ned to an antechamber, and other servants to get Ned something to eat.

Ned drank the too-sweet milk he was brought, and choked down some of the fruit, but simply tore the bread into smaller and smaller pieces while he waited for Jon.

It was only about an hour before Jon did come. He must have cut business short for the moment, or Robert must have taken over. “What is it, Ned? Do you need to speak to Robert? I should warn you, his temper has not yet cooled entirely. You know how he is.”

“Lyanna is dead.” _Father is dead, Brandon is dead._ He’d got used to those words. _Lyanna is dead._ Soon he would be able to add  _Benjen took the black_ and  _Catelyn despises me._

Jon sucked in a sharp breath. “I am sorry,” he said. “Truly. You’d lost more than any of us already. How did it happen?”

“Sickness,” Ned said. It was true. “I have to tell him,” he continued, staring at the destroyed remains of his bread. “I have to. He’ll want to know, and he’d want to hear it from me.” 

“I agree,” Jon said. “Will you be all right to give him the news?” Ned nodded. “Then I’ll clear his schedule for the rest of the day and tell him you need to speak to him privately.”

“Wait,” Ned said, before Jon could leave. “We fought the rest of the Kingsguard. I have their cloaks with me. Lord Commander Hightower, Ser Oswell, Ser Arthur – all dead.” _In service to their king._ “They all died well.”

Jon shook his head sadly. “Then there are only two left, and one of those Jaime Lannister. I know,” he added, when he saw Ned’s expression. “But if we had sent him to the Wall, Lord Tywin would never have forgiven us. I will tell Ser Barristan. No doubt Robert will name him Lord Commander now.” He took the proffered cloaks. “I’m sorry, Ned,” he said again. “Someone will show you to Robert’s solar. I’ll make sure he’s there soon.”

 

\---

 

Just as Jon had said, it wasn’t long before Robert arrived. Ned stood when Robert entered the room, six and a half feet of muscle and high dudgeon. “Come to apologise, have you?” he snarled. It seemed he wanted to continue their argument exactly where they left off. Ned wondered whether Jon had given him any warning – and if so, whether Robert had paid attention any of it, or stormed here in a rage.

Robert stopped instantly, however, when he saw Ned’s face. Whatever he read in Ned’s expression stopped him, and the mightiest warrior in the Seven Kingdoms looked almost small, and very afraid. “Ned?”

“Lyanna is dead, Robert,” Ned said. He tried to say it gently, but there was in the end no way to make the news any easier. At least he could say it.

“What happened?” Robert demanded, tears starting to well in his eyes. “I’ll kill every son of a bitch who hurt her, I swear it. Was it Rhaegar? I’ll dig up his bones and feed them to the wolves if it was.” 

“No,” Ned told him. “There’s no vengeance to be had. It was a fever. That’s all. A fever.”

“A fever.” 

“Yes.”

Robert sat down hard. His tears were flowing freely now. 

“She was in Dorne,” Ned continued, when he saw Robert wasn’t going to speak. “I went to deliver a hostage home. Alyn Dayne, Ser Arthur’s older brother. Lyanna was near their keep.”

Anger glinted in Robert’s eyes again, and Ned rushed on, “You shouldn’t blame them. The Daynes kept their silence to protect her from Aerys. They knew Princess Elia was a hostage and didn’t want that for her.” It was dangerous, mentioning Elia to Robert, but he accepted the explanation with a nod. “The rest of the Kingsguard was there. The ones we didn’t find on the field. I had six other men with me. Six. We couldn’t persuade the Kingsguard to stand down.”

“How many survived?” Robert asked.

“Two,” Ned said. “Me, and one of my companions. We buried the rest where they fell.”

“And…Lyanna?”

Ned’s mouth was very dry. It was like being back in the red mountains, next to the tower once again. “She knew what was happening,” he said. “She knew I was there, she kept calling for me, I could hear she wasn’t…well. When I reached her, she was –“

_Promise me, Ned._ He couldn’t say any of that. He stopped before he got too caught up in the memory. _Promise me_.

“She was still alive,” Ned went on. “Too far gone for any help. She asked if I could take her bones back to Winterfell, and then she died in my arms.”

There was silence for a long time.

“She wasn’t afraid, at the end,” Ned said. _I promised._ “She died peacefully. There was nothing either of us could have done.”

“We should have found her earlier,” Robert said.

“I wish we could have.” They probably couldn’t have. Starfall was a long way away from the main theatre of the war. Ned could hardly have got to her more quickly, not without leaving Storm’s End to starve and imperilling Robert’s new reign. “I wish we could have.”

Robert summoned a servant. “We need wine,” he said. “We’ll need a lot of it. Keep it coming. Tell the Hand that Lord Stark and I will be unavailable for the rest of the day.” If the servant noticed Robert’s tears, he had the good sense not to stare overlong. “We’re going to get drunk, Ned,” Robert continued while they waited for the wine to arrive. “A dozen toasts to your sister’s memory, and it won’t be nearly enough to honour her properly.”

“Nothing would be.”

“Aye, nothing would. So wine will have to serve.”

Being king had its benefits – very few of them, in Ned’s opinion – and soon a cask arrived. Robert poured. It smelled like a fine vintage, though Ned didn’t have much of a palate.

He stared into the goblet. Dornish red. Red like blood. _Promise me._

“To Lyanna,” Robert said.

“To Lyanna,” Ned replied.

He drank.

Somewhere around the third drink Ned realised it was like he had never fought with Robert at all, their anger over the fate of Rhaegar’s children almost ( _almost_ ) forgotten. There was still one child of Rhaegar Targaryen left, and Ned did not intend to let him be killed with his siblings.

_She never loved you like you loved her, Robert,_ Ned didn’t say. _I’m sorry._

He could let Robert keep his memories of Lyanna. It wouldn’t hurt anyone now. On the contrary, telling Robert the truth of Lyanna’s feelings would only make things worse.

_She died in childbed, begging me to protect her son from you. What could I possibly say to you about that? There is no way to tell that truth that would not end in blood._

He drank more.

“I was looking forward to it,” Ned heard Robert say, through the alcoholic haze blurring his thoughts. “Being king…it’s not fun. I thought maybe, if she was my queen, it might be all right. I wanted her more than – more than – anything.”

Ned knew. He would happily return Winterfell if it meant having Lyanna back, or Brandon, or his father. He might have said something to that effect, but he was well and truly drunk. He never could handle his wine as well as Robert could. Now he just had to focus on keeping his mouth shut. That was easily enough done.

Over the course of the war, Ned had seen many men drink to forget the horror. He had avoided doing so, himself – he felt he had needed a clear head more than anything else, even when he missed Father and Brandon so much he could hardly stand it. Now, though, the idea of drinking until he fell asleep was a very tempting one. To drink, and sleep, and not to dream of the tower or torment himself wondering if he could have done more to help Ashara.

He could not make a habit of it, to be sure. But today, just today…

He dreamed of the tower nevertheless and woke, heart and head alike pounding. Once again he’d fallen asleep in a chair. He felt atrocious, all aches and pains and a sour taste in his mouth, and on his face he could feel where his own tears had dried. There had been many. Ned was not ashamed.

It was still full dark outside. Ned’s last clear memory of the day before had been sometime in the afternoon, though he thought he had stayed awake a bit longer than that. It was hard to tell; he felt quite a bit the worse for wear.

Aside from the dried tears, it was a lot like the first time Ned had gotten drunk. It had been Robert’s idea that time as well.

Ned downed a goblet of well-watered wine, ate a chunk of a cold roast potato left on a platter of food he couldn’t remember being brought to them, and went to the Red Keep’s godswood. His clothes weren’t the cleanest, but by the stars outside it was still some time before dawn. He was unlikely to have to make a good impression on anyone at this hour. 

He had been to the Red Keep’s godswood a few times before, in the days between his arrival the day Tywin Lannister sacked the city and when Robert and Jon had caught up with him. There had been much to pray over. Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys. Princess Elia. Even Aerys’ fate, murdered by a man sworn to protect him.

Mostly he had prayed to know how to handle the murders of Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys. One had been a babe in arms and the other scarcely older. They had not asked to be involved in this any more than Ned or Robert had when Aerys sent for their heads, and nor could they fight as Ned and Robert had been able to.

Their only crime, Ned knew, was that they were the children of Rhaegar Targaryen. He had known their murders to be monstrously wrong even before he knew of Lyanna’s boy.

Ned reached the central grove and knelt to pray. Silently, because he had no idea who could be listening. _It will never be the same between Robert and I, but I am grateful to have the better part of our friendship restored._ He couldn’t quite forgive Robert’s acceptance of Rhaegar’s slain children, and he would have to keep some distance between them now. But with Robert, friendship was getting drunk together, even after the worst of news.

_There are so many lies,_ Ned thought. _Already I feel like I am drowning in them. To Robert, to Jon, to all of Winterfell and my lady wife as well._

Should he tell Benjen? The fewer people who knew, the better. But Benjen adored Lyanna. He had helped Lyanna, when all this started. Ned could trust him with this. Him, Benjen, Howland, Wylla, Ashara, Lord Dayne and his wife – that was as far the secret would go, Ned swore.

And that was it, he realised. The war was over for him. The fighting was done and his obligations discharged. There was a new king on the throne. Ned was free to return to Winterfell. He could bury his dead and raise his nephew. He could get to know his wife and learn to rule the North properly, in a time of peace.

It was _done._ It was over, or as over as it could ever be when three-quarters of his family was dead and he had a terrible secret to keep. For all his losses, it was done and he had lived.

He had wept enough, and for lack of another, better reaction, Ned started to laugh.

 

\---

 

But his good mood did not last. Could not last.

After he had prayed, Ned had scraped a few more hours of sleep. Then he had bathed and gone for a late breakfast with Robert, as neither of them knew when they would next see the other. _A long time, most likely._ After that, he went to see Jon Arryn.

“Leaving so soon?” Jon asked him.

“Yes,” Ned replied. “It’s time I went back to Winterfell. I need to bury my sister.”

Jon nodded. “A good decision. I will miss you, all the same. You’ve done very well, this last year.”

Ned didn’t say anything. He didn’t think he’d done all _that_ well. Not when it mattered.

“I have some letters for you,” Jon continued. “The ravens reached us here.” There were three. One was sealed with white wax, and Ned recognised his brother’s hand on the outside. The second was sealed with blue wax and the trout of the Tullys. From Lady Catelyn, it seemed. And the third was sealed with lavender wax and a falling star. The sight of it struck fear into Ned.

_That cannot be anything good. Dark wings, dark words._

“Thank you,” Ned said, accepting all three. “I think I would prefer to read these in private, my lord. If you will excuse me momentarily?”

“Of course,” said Jon.

Ned left the Hand’s solar and found an alcove to duck into.

The one from Ben was a simple report on the state of the North in his absence. Ned had sent a raven to him after they took King’s Landing, telling him that the worst of the fighting was over. It was badly out of date, having arrived about a week after Ned had departed to lift the siege at Storm’s End.

Just a few more weeks and he would see Ben again. His last family. They could bury Lyanna together.

Only Ben wasn’t his last blood family, Ned saw as he opened Catelyn’s letter. He had already surmised that his lady wife had survived the birth, being well enough to pen something herself, but their babe it seemed had lived too. A healthy son. Catelyn had named him Robb.

Not so long ago Ned had sworn to himself that he would never name a child of his after Robert. Now he had one anyway. In light of their reconciliation, Ned didn’t mind so much. It might not have been the choice Ned would have made, but in Ned’s absence it was Catelyn’s right to name their son.

So he was a father for true now. His first child might have died before she drew breath, and he had made another bastard with a lie, but now he had a son. A trueborn son.

_He favours my family rather than yours,_ Catelyn had written. _I hope he will not be a disappointment to you in any respect._

Ned didn’t think he would be.

And then there was the last letter. Ned didn’t recognise the handwriting. His fingers trembled over the seal for a second. No good would come of not reading this letter. He knew enough about pain to realise that it was better to know. _Winter is coming. The cold and the howling winds will be there no matter how men try to hide._ And whatever the letter contained had happened already.

He broke the seal and unfolded the letter.

_I write with grievous news for you, Lord Stark. My sister Ashara is dead by her own hand. Shortly after your departure from Starfall, she threw herself from the Palestone Sword. We have been unable to recover her body._

_It was Ashara’s will that you be told of her demise, expressed in a note we found in her rooms afterwards. She also wrote that you should not worry about her anymore. I confess I do not understand why she felt her death would be good news to you or to anyone, but in the last few days of her life, Ashara was not of sound mind. She blamed herself for the deaths of her child, our brother and our father, your sister, and your friends. Perhaps it will be of some small comfort to you that her grief is at an end after all._

_I had no desire to add to your burdens further, but I hope you can respect a brother’s love for his sister. It was her last wish._

_Nor should you blame yourself. The losses that my sister suffered, that stole her joys and then her reason, were not your doing. In that and that alone, my sister’s last will and I are in agreement._

Ned’s eyes were dry as he finished reading, though he had started leaning heavily against the wall at some point. He felt his heart had turned to ice. He had expected news of this sort from the instant he saw the seal of Starfall, and feared Ashara might do something foolish even as he rode away from that place.

Her face had been so blank as they talked that last time. He had _known_ she had given up. How could he not blame himself for failing her? He should have been able to do more.

He folded all three letters and tucked them away. He just wanted to get out of King’s Landing, now, and leave all this far behind him.

Jon was waiting for him patiently when Ned returned. “Good news?” Jon asked.

“I have a son,” Ned said. He wasn’t going to talk about Ashara. He wasn’t going to talk about Ashara ever again, not to anyone, not if he could help it. He shouldn’t have left her. She had still been alive, while Lyanna had been dead. His sister would have understood. “Lady Catelyn named him Robb.”

“Congratulations to you, then. He is healthy, I trust.”

“So she writes. But I must return to Winterfell all the sooner.” 

As soon as he said it, Ned felt like the worst man in the world. His oldest child had been stillborn and Ashara had killed herself from grief – and Ned planned to rush home to another woman and another babe. That had to be wrong of him. In his heart, it felt wrong. And yet if he did not go, he would wrong Lady Catelyn and his newborn son. By the laws of gods and men, he owed Lady Catelyn and Robb more loyalty than he ever had to Ashara. He had his duties.

This was why Lyanna had run, he knew. But much as he loved his sister, he was not like her.

“Very well,” Jon said, breaking into Ned’s thoughts. “It’s probably best you leave the city soon. You know that Robert will have to wed as soon as possible.”

That was right. None of them could marry as they chose. “Who?” Ned asked.

Jon sighed. “Cersei Lannister is the best choice. Mace Tyrell has a sister of the right age, but Tywin Lannister would take it as a slight, given that the Tyrells were our enemies until a few weeks ago.”

“You’re right. I would rather not see Tywin Lannister rewarded so.”

“I know. But it’s the best thing to do. Not the most just course of action, but the most likely to give us a lasting peace, I believe, particularly if Lord Tywin can be persuaded to keep his distance from King’s Landing.”

A memory of Jaime Lannister sitting on the Iron Throne rose in Ned’s mind. That was what Lord Tywin had wanted all along, a king of his bloodline on the throne. Now he would have it. “I will not stay to see it,” Ned repeated. “I will not, not for love or money. It is an affront to everything I fought for.” 

“Easy, Ned. I won’t make you, and neither will Robert. You’ve done enough here. Go home to Winterfell. Get to know your wife and son. Guard the North as your family always has. I’ll arrange an escort – the men you left here yourself, worry not – and you can meet them on the road tomorrow.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Ned said. “For everything.” 

“You as well.” Jon smiled. “Your father would be proud of you, you know, and your brother could not have done better.”

 

\---

 

Howland and Wylla were still waiting patiently in the inn where Ned had left them almost two days before. Howland in particular had been pleased enough to avoid another stay in the city. “How did everything go?” he asked, when the three of them were alone. Four, technically, if one counted the babe in Wylla’s arms.

“Well enough,” Ned said. “Robert and I are reconciled, as much as we can be under the circumstances.”

“That is good to hear.”

Ned turned to Wylla then. “I have had a letter from Starfall,” he told her. “Lady Ashara is dead. She jumped from the Palestone Sword soon after we left.” 

Wylla looked sad, but not very surprised. “M’lady had the sadness,” she said. “Some women, even birthing a healthy babe makes them funny in the head for a time. M’lady had that, as well as her other troubles. Gods rest her soul." 

Neither Ned nor Howland worshipped the Seven, but they both nodded anyway. “We’ll leave at daybreak tomorrow,” Ned said. “We are to meet our escort on the road.”

Wylla excused herself after that. With sole care of young Jon, she was eager to sleep whenever the babe did. And Ned was content to sit with his sleeping nephew for a little while. “I have a son,” Ned said quietly to Howland. “Lady Catelyn named him Robb.”

“You have two sons,” Howland corrected him. And that was what they’d agreed on, wasn’t it? Ned had no nephews. If Ben took the black as he planned, Ned would never have any nephews. Instead he had a bastard son, and a trueborn son of about the same age.

“Lady Catelyn deserved better than this.” Ned _did_ like her, guilty as he felt about it. _Ashara is dead and you are wed to Catelyn. There is no unfaithfulness to feel guilty about. Only the deception and the public dishonour you will do to her._

“I would foster him, if you asked,” Howland said. “You promised to protect Jon; sending him to live with me would be within the letter of that promise.”

“But not the spirit,” Ned replied at once. “She wanted me to raise him myself, in Winterfell.” There was a long pause. “I don’t want to send Jon away,” he confessed at length. “For my own sake. It’s selfish of me, but even knowing how my wife will feel about it, I would much rather keep Jon.”

“I understand,” Howland said. Of course Howland understood. “I’ll take my leave, Ned. I’d like to sleep before that daybreak start you want.” 

Ned sat alone quietly, trying not to wake the child he’d claimed as his son, and unwilling to sleep himself. _I hope Lady Catelyn will forgive me for this, but if she does not, I will thoroughly deserve it. I am committed, no matter the price._

“Jon Snow of Winterfell,” he whispered, looking at an infant face that already promised to look far more like his mother’s than his father’s. “Long may you live.”

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said. Unending parade of misery. Thanks to everyone who got as far as this, I'd be thrilled to hear your feedback!


End file.
